


Welcome Home

by Lazarusmycroft



Series: Series three from my POV [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-09
Updated: 2014-02-09
Packaged: 2018-01-11 17:52:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1176073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lazarusmycroft/pseuds/Lazarusmycroft
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I had this idea for a while that was an alternate way that Sherlock's homecoming could (should) have gone.  John has been riddled with guilt for two years because the last time he saw Sherlock face to face he had shouted at him and then Sherlock jumped off that roof top.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Welcome Home

**Author's Note:**

> Obviously I do not own these characters and this is my first work so I apologize for any errors and hope you enjoy it!!  
> Reviews are always welcome and very much appreciated as well as kudos!! Xoxo

Two years. Two years had passed since John stood on the pavement outside of Bart's hospital and watched his best friend, Sherlock Holmes, fall, no, jump to his death. It had been a long two years, grief and depression had ruled his life for a large portion of that time. He had spent many sleepless nights replaying the last face to face interaction he ever had with Sherlock. He had had a row with him because Sherlock was being his usual self and refused to come with John to the aid of Mrs. Hudson, their landlady, who had apparently been shot. "You machine!", John had shouted at Sherlock as he sat, seeming not to care. Upon realizing that Mrs. Hudson had not, in fact, been shot and apparently the whole thing was a fix, John had rushed back to Bart's to find Sherlock standing on the rooftop preparing to jump and that is still the scene he sees each time he closes his eyes.

Six months ago John's life was changed completely once again when he met her. Mary Morstan, sweet, gentle, understanding Mary. Without her John was pretty sure his grief would have swallowed him entirely. Tonight, however, John was finally moving on to the next stage in his life, he was about to propose to Mary. Mary had stepped out to take a phone call she had just received so John was waiting nervously for her to return and he was trying, with difficulty, to choose an appropriate champagne for the occasion. 

When Mary returned to the table John suddenly felt much calmer and happier, as he always did in her presence, she just seemed to fill a part of the hole that Sherlock had left in his absence. After a few awkward attempts at asking Mary to marry him and the reappearance of that bizarre waiter from earlier, John was just about to finally say the words when the bizarre waiter miraculously turned in to none other than Sherlock Holmes himself. John's first reaction was disbelief which rapidly turned to shock and then horror and finally, rage. He stood up so abruptly that he nearly knocked the table over, Mary was startled at first and then she quite quickly seemed to understand what was going on in front of her. 

Sherlock made a few feeble attempts at joking before he finally realized the enormity of what he had just done. The restaurant became a blur and the chatter and clinking of silverware on plates all became back ground buzz to John as he lunged forward to grab the impossible man by the throat to throttle him. Later, after being kicked out of no less than three separate establishments due to John attacking Sherlock repeatedly, the three stood on a curb waiting for a cab. 

Mary had talked to John and convinced him that he needed to accompany Sherlock to Baker Street and hear his explanation. She had told him that he, John, owed it to himself, if not anyone else, to hear an explanation for why Sherlock faked his death. A cab pulled up and John and Sherlock slid inside while Mary grabbed the one that pulled up next. Inside the cab the tension was so thick you could have sliced it with a knife and both men could not wait to arrive at Baker Street.

Being back inside Baker Street with Sherlock, who stood anxiously in the middle of the room, was a surreal experience to John. This was certainly something he never expected to happen again, Sherlock was DEAD, yet he wasn't, here he was standing large as life in their flat like the past two years had been in John's imagination. He hadn't imagined it though and it wasn't just the fact that John could remember every excruciating moment of life without Sherlock, no, it was also the fact that this gaunt specter standing in front of him now was only a shadow of his former self. He did not think it was possible but somehow Sherlock was thinner than John had ever seen him, the dark circles under his eyes resembled bruises and then there were the eyes. Never had he seen this man look so positively...haunted. There was no other word for the look in his eyes, haunted, Sherlock must have been through a hellish ordeal.

Swallowing hard and trying to gain control of his emotions John finally moved from the doorway to the chair, his chair, by the fireplace and motioned for Sherlock to have a seat in his chair, opposite John's. The two men stared at each other for a few moments before John finally broke the silence. 

"Well? You jumped off a roof two years ago and died, you DIED, Sherlock."

Sherlock was silent for a brief time, he looked as though he was trying to compose his thoughts.

"John, I realize I owe you a thousand apologies and even then that may never make up for what I have evidently put you through. Please understand that I never guessed you would have been so affected and I am sincerely sorry for the grief I brought you."

"You- you had no idea I would be affected by watching you plunge to the pavement? Are you serious? For someone who is supposedly so bloody clever you really are incredibly ignorant!" John could feel his anger rising again and so he took a few deep breaths before continuing. " Sherlock, do you realize what these last two years have been like for me? Every night when I close my eyes the image I see is you. You standing on that bloody rooftop saying goodbye, then I wake up in a cold sweat and sleep is a lost hope after that."

"John-"

John held up his hand to stop him and shook his head.

 

"No, Sherlock, I need to get this out first then you can have your turn. Every moment for the last two years, every waking and every sleeping second I have done nothing but replay the last time we saw each other face to face. Do you remember?"

Sherlock nodded and closed his eyes briefly. "Yes John, I have thought of little else over the past two years."

"My last moments with you alive were spent having a row, I called you a machine and I stormed out and never looked back. You can not ever imagine the guilt I have been dealing with." John finished, breathing heavily, he was never very good with these types of things, dealing with emotions. He definitely felt better having gotten it off his chest and now he sat staring across at Sherlock who, now that he allowed himself to finally take it in, was truly and honestly alive and sitting here in the flesh. 

Sherlock took a few deep breaths and regarded John warily before he finally spoke in that deep baritone voice.

"John, I know that I can not apologize enough, but truly, I deeply regret the way things had to happen. Please believe me when I say there was no alternative." He looked pleadingly, or at least as much so as Sherlock was capable of. John simply nodded and gave him a look that said "go on." 

"As I said earlier tonight, Moriarty had to be stopped, and once we took care of him I had to go into hiding and dismantle his network, piece by piece. It was difficult and required me to be completely off the radar. As I said, I wanted to contact you but I feared you might say something indiscreet. It really was for your safety that I could not be in contact." 

Sherlock shifted in his seat and winced visibly as he did so, John immediately sat up straighter.

"What's wrong? What happened?"

Sherlock smiled, it was more of a grimace. "It's nothing, just some friendly reminders of my time abroad. Nothing serious. John, do you think you will ever be able to forgive me for what I've put you through?"

"Jesus, Sherlock, I attacked you tonight and you obviously have unhealed wounds. I'm sorry, I - I didn't know. Yes, yes of course I forgive you, Jesus."

Sherlock smirked that little smirk that John knew well and just now realized how much he missed it. 

"Thank you, John. I have missed being in London and I'd wager you miss it too?"

"Oh god, yes. It is nice to be back here, especially."

"John, listen, I know that you are going to marry her, Mary, but I want you to know that your room here, at Baker Street, will remain unoccupied. If ever you need to come and stay, you are always welcome." Sherlock was gazing into the fire as he finished speaking, John would almost say he seemed shy if he didn't know the man better and know that there wasn't a shy bone in his body.

"Th-thank you, Sherlock. I am really pleased to see you, I still don't truly believe it though, I keep thinking I must wake up soon." He laughed and shook his head and when he looked up he was staring into the steel grey eyes of Sherlock.

"I'm really here, and I plan to be for a very long time, I promise I won't put you through anything like that ever again." John was left speechless, not for the first time that night. For lack of anything else to do or say, and to break the intensity of that gaze, John looked at his watch and sighed.

"Damn, it's late. Mary will be worried if I don't get home soon."

The two men stood and walked to the door of the flat, there was an awkward moment of indecision at the threshold then John impulsively reached up and gruffly pulled Sherlock into a hug. For a few minutes the air was heavy with the weight of all that wasn't being said then John was the one who spoke, smiling he said:

"Welcome home."


End file.
